The first grandchild
by Milli Moi
Summary: A short prequel to Aradia, where it all began
1. Chapter 1

"Ron?"

Ron felt his head snap so fast to the side it could've broken off. Bill stood in the doorway, he didn't look serious-serious, just normal serious. Something wasn't right, he had known it wasn't the second Hermione had slumped in his arms, totally unconscious.

They had just got her inside when Fleur had a lightbulb moment, her expression changing completely. She took charge of the situation instantly, deciding it was 'women's matters' and that she would manage on her own.

Ron had been confined to the kitchen. He had sat at the table for what felt like days, watching Fleur come and go- grabbing some towels and pyjamas and that horrible rub Molly has always put on their really good cuts so that they didn't get infected. It had smelt terrible, worse than the stench of Fox that often surrounded the Burrow. Harry hadn't come in- he needed time. Time to dwell on Dobby, on all that had happened at the manor. Ron knew his best friend didn't always cope with comfort, he had been alone most of his life where as Ron had been surrounded by a family where at least one person would have a sensible answer to his problem.

Ron knew also that Harry's thoughts didn't lay with Hermione. He knew only his own felt this strong, he would never forget those sounds, the sounds of Hermione's screams as her arms were bitten and the crutiatus curse laid upon her time after time. He felt sick, the second she had dropped in his arms as they buried Dobby he had felt his breath stop, his heart go into overdrive. She had been harmed so much, she was bleeding from her arms, her face. She had appeared white and had said nothing until the funeral. A simple and soft 'Ron' was all that came from her mouth before she had dropped in his grasp.

Now she was upstairs, and he wasn't allowed to see her. What sort of women's problem could be causing her to collapse so suddenly and to look so ill.

He looked back at his eldest brother, rising in his seat before Bill could utter anything more than his name. But Bill beckoned him forwards, leading the way up the stairs. His face was solemn, "she wants to see you" was all he said. On the landing they met Fleur, she carried a large basin covered by a burnt orange towel. There were tears in her eyes. Ron felt his throat tighten.

Bill led him to the end of the corridor, knocked on the door and turned to follow his wife down the stairs.

"Ron?" Hermione's voice was soft and croaking- she didn't sound like herself, sounded like she had been crying. He felt his throat squeeze along with his heart. He felt more sick than he had downstairs.

Slowly he turned the door handle and let himself in. The room was small and quaint, there was a fire burning with blue smoke, a glass vase of flowers on top of the white dresser and an old looking single bed with a cast iron frame. Hermione sat in the bed, her back supported by pillows in a reclined position. She had her knees up and a patchwork blanket covered her from the waist. She was very pale, her complexion almost matching the white of the pillows but now the cuts had been washed on her face, her arms bandaged. He could smell fox from across the room indicating the rub had been used.

Her face was tear stained and she still looked close to tears although emotionless too. Something was wrong.

"I didn't even get the chance to tell you," she sniffed tears running down her cheeks once more, tell me what?

She crunched forwards on herself, clutching her stomach with both hands, wincing momentarily before she straightened again.

"Hermione, what is going on? I didn't think your monthlies could do so much harm, I mean Ginny gets in some mood but she's never fainted." The whole time Ron spoke his best friend shook her head slowly, he eventually gave up and tapered off- aware he was probably blushing.

Hermione sniffed delicately.

"It's not that- quite the opposite in fact."

The opposite, what on earth did that mean. Bloody hell it didn't mean, she couldn't be- Hermione interrupted his thoughts with the truth.

"I, I've had a miscarriage Ron."


	2. Chapter 2

Ron found himself staring at her. A miscarriage, that meant, oh god. She had been pregnant. Hermione had been going to have a baby, a real baby- his baby. Oh, Merlin's Beard.

"I, I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how." Hermione whimpered, tears flowing down her cheeks once more.

Ron shook his head; he didn't know what to say. She hadn't said anything, nothing and she was carrying his baby. His child, he- for a short time- had been a sort-of father.

"I knew you wouldn't let me stay with you- Harry needed me, you needed me."

Ron found himself unable to look at her, she had lied, she had kept their baby from him.

"How long have you known?" He spat, trying to hold back the swirling potion of emotions he was beginning to feel. She looked down, took a deep breath and looked back to him. She peeled back the blanket a little, little enough to lift up her t-shirt. Ron saw straight away, how could he have missed how much her belly had grown. She didn't have a large swollen belly- not by any means- but he could see the smooth bump in her stomach, the rounded dent which hadn't been there before.

"Seventeen weeks." The words dissolved into a bubble of tears, "It was a baby Ronald, it had little legs, and arms." She lost total control of herself then, burying her face into her hands and crying so hard she was almost screaming.

He was screaming too, on the inside. His stomach was twisting, tying knots and tying them tight. He looked at Hermione, she didn't look back. She had lost herself in her grief. He didn't know what to do, whether to comfort her, whether to leave her.

He had done enough leaving. Merlin, he had left her with Harry for weeks in the forest. That was no place for a pregnant woman to be staying, no way for one to be living. She must have barely known, she shouldn't have found out that way, she should have had him at her side. Dammit!

He left the room, flying down the stairs and out, out the front door down to the beach. He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know anything- only that he had to move.

"Ron, Ron stop." Harry caught him by the shoulders and he felt himself dissolve straight onto the sandy ground surrounding the cottage. Ron felt nothing and yet he felt everything. He was hopeless, he was bloody hopeless. He was meant to protect Hermione, he had promised to look after her, he had promised to be the best he could be.

Harry followed him to the ground, sitting near him but not close enough to touch him. There was silence. Harry didn't know what to say, Ron didn't know what to say. Eventually Harry broke the silence.

"What happened? She is ok?" Ron couldn't find the words at first, his throat and mouth felt as dry as the ground they sat on.

"She's just had a miscarriage." Harry's eyes went wide, then soft and full of sorrow. He knew what it meant. They all knew what had happened. Another life had been lost.

"Ron, I'm so sorry- did you know?" Harry's voice was soft and careful, as though he knew Ron was like a wand in the wrong hands- could backfire at any moment. Ron glanced at his best friend for the first time since they sat down.

"That she was expecting?" He shook his head, looking back to the sand.

Harry stared into space, blushing a little, "I didn't know you two, were, ugh-." Ron interrupted him,

"The night before Bill and Fleur's wedding, you had gone for a walk with Ginny, it was our first time- she cried a little but it was," he sighed deeply, "it was magic. I didn't think she'd get pregnant, I pulled out before-."

Harry raised his hand, screwing up his face in disgust.

"oh yeah, right. Well it's no better than you and my sister," Ron grumbled but Harry shook his head,

"We haven't." Ron was relieved, that was his baby sister and his best friend. It didn't bear thinking about, but he was even more relieved when silence fell for a few more minutes, then,

"Is she going to be alright, Hermione, nothing's gone wrong or anything."

A voice from behind made them both jump,

"No, Fleur is dealing with it, and my Dad knows all the charms for this sort of thing. Fleur has had one herself did you know? You didn't know."

It was Luna, Luna who had been forgotten in all this. She was Ginny's age- still a kid in Ron's eyes- but she was wise beyond her years even if she was round the twist.

"It was a little boy, my Father says- your wife named him Aaron, it means remembered ,"

Ron felt himself flutter a little at the word Wife. She would never be that, I mean sure, she was- she was perfect but she could do better than him, and did he want Hermione for the rest of his life? Of course, he did, he was just used to getting his hopes up and have them scattered at his feet.

"She's not my wife Luna- you know that." Luna tilted her head looking off into the distance but with her body still turned to the boys.

"A marriage is the joining of two souls, what better way of marrying is there than to make a baby?"

Those words stuck with Ron, the day went on and in the evening he got the courage to go back to Hermione. She lay asleep when he crept into her room at around midnight. He lay down on the creaky bed behind her, laying her warm flannel pyjama top against his chest. She looked so peaceful. With a movement of his shoulder she awoke. She smiled at him.

"Thank you," she whispered, "thank you for being with me." Ron opened his mouth to protest, but she looked up at him, tears flooding her eyes again.

"I wish I could have told you, wish we could have celebrated." She continued. Her eyes fell on the little shoebox placed at the edge of her bed. Ron felt a lump form in his throat. That was their son, their baby.

"We'll bury him tomorrow, I'll be able to walk fine by then, he will go with Dobby. They will keep each other safe."

Hermione was never this poetic, never this interested in stories of heaven. She had lost her parents, now her son, she had changed so much in a year- they all had.

"stay with me," she pleaded Ron. He nodded and let her pull him under the quilt where she quickly curled into his chest.

These hours, day and months were not going to be easy, but Aaron lit the way. Aaron was the spark, the way that having sex with your best friend became curling up in the night, leading to engagement and marriage. Aaron was a martyr for the cause, not the first and not the last, but he was the first born of the war's generation, the first grandchild of Molly and Arthur, and the first spark, which brought everything together.


End file.
